blue-pens-and-cold-coffee

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Okay, one thing I’m getting tired of being told is that I’m narcissistic because I actually like myself. How awful is this society where you can’t call yourself beautiful without getting weird looks, because everyone else hates the way they are. Idk it’s just a rant :/

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

TW: TALK OF DRUGS AND HALLUCINATIONS

I may have taken laced weed because of my dumb life choices

...

..

.

I need to write this all down before I forget. I don’t exactly need to, but it would be nice to have a solid record of my poor life choices. I stole my mom's edibles. Nice smelling chocolate squares in a plain white carton. Innocent enough. Her best friend gave them to her over dinner as a birthday gift. When I asked her about it later, she said she hadn't even touched them.

I rifled through her underwear drawer with shaking hands until I found the clear Tupperware container where she stores her weed. I didn’t do this thing often. The whole rebellious thing I mean. So when I do, I’m always panicky. Looking over my shoulder every five seconds, any and every creak made me jump out of my skin. Once I grabbed the carton, I shoved it up my sleeve, grabbed some q-tips from her bathroom in case if anybody saw me coming out I had an alibi. I hid away in my room for the upteenth time that week. I once got in trouble for stealing her weed a few years ago, but that time I didn’t actually do it. My grandfather took me up in his room to show me something cool, and it was the joint my mom had been saving for over a year. Next thing you know I’m being blamed for smoking it. Pissed was an understatement. Of course though, my mother was worried about all the wrong things. She was more mad about her weed being stolen then her fourteen year old allegedly smoking weed. Off topic.

I know I shouldn’t have taken her chocolates. But this was quarantine, and I was losing my mind. Days and nights were blurring together and I couldn’t take the noise in my head anymore. I wanted to shut everything up. I heard from my friends that that’s exactly what weed does. Blocked out the unwanted thoughts. I needed that.

Back in my room, I took a look inside the box. Only two squares were left. Liar. I decided that night time was the best course of action, I laid in bed and played Animal Crossing until the anticipation got the best of me. I was never a patient person. I could never wait for my mother and brother to go to bed. I needed it right then. I waited an hour tops before popping one into my mouth. It was the most disgusting, disappointing thing I’ve ever tasted. The tartness made my jaw hurt and my eyes water. I felt chunks of the flower across my tongue and between my teeth. The urge to gag was overbearing. Why did people do this? The thick burn of vodka was better than that. As I went downstairs to wash my mouth out, I texted Katie about it. She told me I was lucky and to save one for her. I disagreed and told her about the taste. She didn’t seem to mind.

I sat down on my bed and grabbed my switch to play animal crossing.

I didn’t feel anything for the first half hour, so I decided to try the last square, but this time I was prepared for the taste. Or not. Even with my nose plugged it was even worse the second time around. I was sure I was going to vomit. The slightly contaminated paint water went down the hatch. Anything to get the wretched taste out of my mouth. It swished around in my mouth until the chunks of herb dislodged from my molars.

It occurred to me that I should check how much I actually took. 135 grams in an edible. I’m 5”2. What a ride it was.

I toyed the idea of showering for a bit, but decided against it when the heaviness of my eyelids proved itself to be too much and I succumbed to the thought of sleep. I put down my switch and turned around to get comfortable. That’s when it started. It took a second for my brain to process the fact that I’ve turned my head. Senses lagged like an old video game. It was a but nauseating, but exciting. After an hour and a half, I was finally feeling something. I don’t remember being upright, but there I was, sitting against my headboard….. and then I itched my head. Everything hit me like a freight train. The scratches felt amazing. My scalp was hypersensitive to the feeling of my fingernails dragging themselves along my skin. Every micromovement felt electric. I took my hands away for a moment to look at my hands. They were so fuzzy it was like they weren’t there at all. Mist almost. But they were so lovely. And I was so lonely. They could be my friends right? I stared at my liquid fingers with a grin so wide my lips cracked and bled at the corners. Moving my head back and forth like a viper, I sighed. This was what I was meant to feel all along. My eyes were still heavy and my mouth hung open in awe. The idea of napping was long gone. I was wide awake. My hands found their way back to my head and my sole focus was scratching until I was raw. . . Trying to dig out the happiness. The feeling was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Colors danced across my vision and I didn’t want it to fade away. I couldn’t let it fade away. I dug at my scalp until the happiness oozed out and I went cross eyed. I started laughing. Giggling even. Rocking side to side like A dumbass. Somewhere along the way I ended up completely folded in on myself; limp in the middle of my bed.

This is just the placebo effect, I told myself. It has to be. There’s no possible way I can be high. I’m just imagining things. I don’t remember standing, but there I was, dancing on my bed(and I never dance). I was clumsy, tripping over myself, but I didn’t care. My arms flailed around as my feet moved toward the edge of my bed. Then, I was in front of a mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, like they were trying their hardest to push themselves out of the socket. It never registered that my eyes hurt until that moment. I looked horrible. Ugly...Hideous... So pretty... I’m so desirable... I’m disgusting… My thoughts came in slow, but piled on top of each other. I would think one thing, stop mid thought, have another idea, stop, and pick up where I left off with the previous one. The cycle repeated itself over and over and over. It drove me fucking insane. My one coherent thought was how annoying it was. Then the thought disappeared for a while. Then came back. Gone again.

A shower felt like a good idea then. I gathered my phone, a t-shirt and some underwear before stumbling my way into the bathroom with minimal bruising. I wasn’t used to feeling this way. Addiction runs deep on both sides of my family, so when I had six shots of vodka in one sitting I didn’t feel a thing except rosy cheeks. A placebo. That’s all this is. I usually don’t feel anything, so I’m not feeling anything now.

I placed my clothes on the toilet and put on a Shower Playlist. I stood there with only my bottoms on, staring at nothing for who knows how long before finally turning on the shower. I roll up my sleeve and turn the knob towards me. The pushing sensation of my eyes came back full force. I have my phone in hand, but for some reason I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I was doing on it, so I stood there once again for an unknown amount of time.

I looked at the wall beside me, and I was appalled. The ceiling was so high. I was so close to the ground. I was so small. What the fuck what the fuck. My breathing began to accelerate until I was light headed. I couldn’t deal with it. My thoughts passed a mile a minute but I couldn’t make sense of them. That made me panic even more..

My eyes darted to the ceiling, back to the floor. All of a sudden my bathroom was two sizes too small. This couldn’t be happening. Why is this happening. Fuck fuck fuck I made such a huge mistake. I gripped both sides of my head harder than I should’ve and began to hyperventilate. Placebo. It’s a placebo. This can be happening. I looked up. Looked down. Looked up. I was so small. The was so tall.

Alice in wonderland, I thought to myself, and that’s exactly what it felt like. I focus on the shower curtain but it’s so close to me that I could see the texture of the fabric. That must be it. It’s a new curtain. I turn my head to the opposite wall and I’m being closed in. The walls were an inch away from touching me. Are we so poor that we can’t afford a bigger bathroom? I don’t remember it being this small. I breathed so hard I felt the bottom of my ribs touch my spine. Next thing I know, I’m in the shower still gripping my head. Pathetically.. brokenly whispering aloud, “it’s not a placebo” over and over between ragged breaths as all the air I even had was thrusted out of my lungs and into the steam.

I snapped out of it. Suddenly I’m fine. It was all a placebo. Sitting down in the shower, folded in half, I thought how easy it was to give myself a panic attack while high. I thought the idea was funny so I replicated my breaths from before. Heavy inhale. Harsh exhale; and then I’m dying, trying to push my eyes back into their sockets with my kneecaps. Hands on my head once again. I’m breathing in all of the steam. Felt it in the back of my throat and in my nose. In my lungs. I thought that was how I was gonna die. All the steam was gonna build up in my lungs and I would drown. The steam was gonna get me and strangle me in my sleep. It hurt but I didn’t move. Just gripped my scalp and cried.

My thought patterns scared me. I couldn’t think more than one thing at once. My thoughts cut out and got replaced by another before continuing where I left off. Washing my hair, I rested my head against the tub and and tried to replicate that special feeling by scratching my scalp for a bit. It worked, but not in the same way. Wasn’t as intense. I was so foggy. I was so dizzy. I couldn’t focus on anything. Not even the wall in front of me. Nothing was solid.

I was back in bed and I was blown away by the most amazing feeling in the world. I laid on my back with my arm thrown over my eyes and I soaked everything in. I saw the electricity radiating off of my body in waves. It was green and shot up from my body in small squiggles about an inch high before dissipating. Cycle repeats. I felt so many things.

My eyes hurt just then. They burned so bad. The arm thrown over my eyes was wet from my blinking eyes. Bare skin was on my eyes. I’m a fucking dumbass.

A sick shudder goes up my spine and I wondered if high me was more creative than sober me. I wanted to paint something, but the bed was so comforting; I decided to do the next best thing: experiment with my creativity. I imagined a wet, sloppy tongue slipping its way into my ear canal. I could hear the disgusting sounds and my stomach churned. I could feel the way it wriggled inside of me. Long and horrible and deep. Then there were two, then three. They kept shoving their way in until the final number was six. My ear was too full but they just kept pushing their way in until my head split open. They went from my ear canal to my throat. Fucked it raw. Like long tentacles they came out of my mouth and nose up into my eyes and holy fuck I need to stop being so fucked up.

My breathing was ragged again. My ribs touched my spine again. That area glowed red with every inhale. In my head, I saw my body in x-ray vision. I turned on my side and a new feeling arose just as amazing as the first. There were pink and purple waves this time. They fell over me like a blessing from Aphrodite herself. Rolled over slightly more. Green and blue. My body lights up like a neon sign. Then I also thought sober me would think I was being ridiculous right now. Sober me? I am sober. This is just a placebo. I'm not really paying attention anymore. I keep zoning out but I love it.

It was when I finally decided to fall asleep that I felt sick to my stomach. I rolled back and forth for hours with intense pain. I was nauseous and swore I was going to vomit the chocolates back up. I haven’t thrown up in seven years, but thought I might break that personal record. It went on for hours. I have multiple medical issues and I’ve never been that sick before. I don’t know what was wrong with me. All the nice feelings disappeared and I was left with nothing but suffering. After what felt like an eternity I fell asleep only to wake up with a throat dryer than the Sahara desert. I felt I was gonna die from it. I would shrivel up like a dried grape and turn to dust. My thoughts only got more rapid and disturbing. I cried into my pillowcase at my own twisted fantasies. I still don’t know if I was hallucinating or if the drugs were enhancing my twisted creativity.

The first thing I noticed when I was finally sober was that my head was unbelievably quiet.

...

I think I understand addicts now. What terrifies me is even though my trip was awful, I would do it all over again just for those five minutes of glee. I’m ashamed of myself for thinking that way, but it’s true. If I could get my hands on it again I take it without hesitation. I just hope I don’t seek it out. Please don’t let me get to a point where I seek it out.

#tw drugs #poem #spilled writing #exerpt from my diary #teenage diary #diary entry #trauma writing #vent writing #my writing #free write #wtf #im sorry #writing #spilled ink #spilled emotions

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Tw sexual assault/ childhood trauma

Nov. 4. 2018. 1:44 am.

I haven’t cried in a while but now I think I might. I should be crying right now. Why aren’t I crying? I feel numb. Nothing inside. I don’t know what to do. I know some things for certain. I don’t ever want to watch that movie or wear those pants ever again. I don’t think I’m going to be able to get any sleep tonight. I’m sick to my stomach. Fuck. Weekends are going to be my least favorite time now. I might get Daliah and find a spot to burn those pants. I don’t want him to come home ever again.

#vent writing #personal vent #vent post #tw sex assault #tw childhood trauma #my writing #trauma writing #free write #teenage diary #my diary #exerpt from my diary

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Nov. 3. 2018

Today’s the type of day where you gotta open the blinds because the sun is shining just right. The sky is gray. And the air is cold. But you can just tell it’s a good day. Days like these should be spent wandering around the train tracks or laying in the grass dressed in two hoodies, listening to shitty emo music. Today’s the type of day where I feel okay. Where I’m ready to do shit, or go on a maybe-date, or hang out on the porch and close my eyes for a bit.

But I can’t do any of that. Moms in another state with my little brother waiting in a white hospital room. Grandmas tearing up the house. Pappy’s telling her what a bad wife she is. Dads stressed, running around phoning mom out back. Never inside. The sky is still gray. The air is still cold. The good feeling is almost still there. The maybe-date has been canceled and I’m alone; thinking about what could’ve happened today.

#vent poem #vent post #personal vent #my poetey #original poem #my writing #vent writing #trauma writing #written #tw sex assault #tw childhood trauma

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Sometimes my brain feels so small inside my skull. Like there's a fog trapped inside, consuming it, making it cower and shrink. Right now the layers of fog are overlapping. It makes me feel like I can't feel anything. I'm aware that I could have a future. But I don't want to do anything to get to that point. It's not worth it. Yes, it is. I know it is. But I just don't care enough right now. Let me sink into the couch belly up and lay there for all eternity. I'll watch the ceiling and daydream of everything that could've been. I'll be satisfied. No, I wouldn't. It doesn't matter anyway.

#my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #spilled writing #free write #vent poem #vent post #personal vent

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

#my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #excerpt from a book i'll never write #greek mythology poetry #vent poem #my poetey #poem #poetry

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

#my writing #vent writing #written #free write #writblr #greek mythology poetry #vent poem #poetry #poem

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Apollo and his Drunkard

Gold The color of his grace

Red The color of his cause

Gold The look upon his face

Red The blood soaked through the gauze

Green The color of the bottle

Black The color of his hair

Green Seems he can only tottle

Black His breath poisons the air

Star-crossed lovers who never fell

Every second killing you

Only time will tell

Permets Tu?

#my writing #vent poem #vent post #my poetey #poem #original poem #poetry #my wriitng #written #free write #spilled ink #apollo #mythology #greek mythology #greek mythology poetry

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Oct. 7. 2018.

I’ve never been to a high school party and gotten fuckd up. I’ve never taken a spontaneous road trip. I’ve never skipped class or hung out on the train tracks or taken midnight walks or burned a bible. I’ve missed out on my teenage experience. I’m so fucking bored. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. All I do is sit around with my pants off and call it a day. Maybe if I was in a normal school things would be different? I wanna do shit. I wanna get into trouble. I wanna have these memories to look back on when I’m on my deathbed. I won’t be a kid for much longer. Fuck. I gotta make this count.

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #spilled writing #written #writblr #free write #vent post #vent poem #personal vent #original poem

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

September. 29. 2018

(Three days after my 15th birthday)

I’m getting older and I don’t know what to do.

Every time I think

Every time I try to move

It all falls the fuck apart

Time is running out

My time is running out

I can’t breathe

Things will have to get done

Stuff will have to be said

But I can’t

I can’t yet

But that doesn’t even matter because once my freedom starts hell begins

I can’t grow up please don’t make me

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #spilled writing #writblr #free write #vent poem #cptsd coping #personal vent #original poem #poetry

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

In a perfect world, I’d be someone people could trust. Not just someone they think they could. I’d be someone who was selfless, not selfish. I’d actually understand why others would be sad if mr. C got hit by a car. And I’d be sad as well. In a perfect world, I’d be the perfect sibling. Always swooping in to save the day, to wipe away tears, to to be ready to play pirates whenever. I’d actually be there for him. Not just a shitty distraction when mom and dad are screaming at each other. In the perfect world, I’d be able to ask the WAWA employee where the milkshake option went without having a panic attack. And then an even bigger one in the car. I’d be motivated and not lazy. I’d be reliable and honest. I’d be someone who doesn’t make stupid impulse decisions like give myself a tattoo in the middle of the night. Or sneak out of the house to buy weed. Or ruining my mental state for a night while I sneak vodka and orange juice back to my room. I didn’t even feel anything. I never do. But in this perfect world I’d be able to.

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

vulture man

vulture man

i tell you that you’re sick

let your eyes tell me you know it too

when the tears burn your cheeks

profanities fly like birds from your mouth

while you put me through your wet mattress

heavy molasses curses

poured into my ears

you put your cotton in my throat

and your skinny fingers through my eyes

fuck them out with your fingernails

you take my vision, vulture man

take my body too

with the hammer’s chill upon my legs

i’m grateful i can’t see

you bust my bones to splinters

and turn my ribs to dust

my stomach; a chunky tomato salsa

and my brain to sweet strawberry jam

vulture man

your cries are hot on my shoulders

your tears to salt my flesh

you fill me as i die

and tell my corpse you’re sorry

you worship me

reverent in my dismemberment

kiss me limb to limb

wrap me tender in trash bags

i can’t find my eyes.

but they sit milky in your jar

my finger bones became your popsicle sticks

oh vulture man, i cannot leave you

my body is a jigsaw puzzle on your toy room shelf

forever ghosting

breathing

rasping

‘my vulture man, you are sick.’

I- I don’t even know with this one. Crack fic?? I’m sorry

#short story #story #exerpt from a story i'll never write #spilled ink #tw sex assault #tw gore #vent poem #vent post #personal vent #my poetey #poem #original poem #poetry #crack fic #semi satire?? #my writing #trauma writing #spilled writing #written #free write #writblr #writing

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

I’m sorry for all the times I was wrong

I swore I was right

I swore I was alright but being alright meant being conscious I don’t know why my consciousness has left me to die. I don’t wanna be here. And I know they know that. So tell me why I’m stuck here telling myself that I should stay here. And not home. Home where I belong. I belong with the rose stained towels not compressed into space inside of a box inside of a hearse. I’m one misstep away from the hearse. Make this party end I’m begging you Johnny boy take this match and snap it in half it’s the only way I can be safe fire isn’t right it lights up the night, the dark is beautiful so leave me here alone with it. Please.

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #spilled writing #written #free write #writblr #vent poem #personal vent #my poetey #poem #original poem #poetry #exerpt from a story i'll never write

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

July 20th 2017

Day 1: Best friend

Dear justin,

I absolutely hate that you're my best friend.

It’s not that I don’t have anyone else to give that title to, it’s just that I can’t seem to let go what was never there to begin with.

You only care about yourself

You put me down

You pretend

But despite everything you have done to make me hate you, I always seem to come crawling back to you. And i don't know why. I know exactly why.

I fell in love. I see what your doing, but i chose to ignore it. I ignore all the pain you put me through. I ignore all of the hurtful words you spew at me. But most importantly, I ignore the fact that you're in love with someone else. You’re crazy for him, and I’m crazy for you.

I wish you could just stop pretending you care for just a second and be fucking honest with me! I have spent so many hours crying over someone who can’t even do something as simple as answer a phone call. I have tried to be done with you over and over again; but everytime I see your face all my worries fizzle out and once again, I fall into your trap.

-

-

-

Here’s me when I was a dramatic 14 year old lmaoo i was so extra

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Sometimes the overwhelming pressure of your peers

Can prove to be too much

And you just want to get away

Get away from your friends,

Your parents,

Society

Yourself

Wanting to get away doesn’t make you a bad person

It just means you understand a bit more than others

And if you understand, I’m sorry.

I don’t know you, but I believe you

Some would say it’s normal

Everyone feels it

But not everyone follows through with it

While most move past and move on,

We’re stuck in a loop

A loop that one step sideways could cure us,

But we keep letting the numbness take us straight in circles

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out

The therapists keep telling me to take deep breaths when I don’t really want to breath at all, you know? I say, just fuck it. Let everything out. Scream. Throw shit. Fuck keeping it in and keeping a strong face. You don’t have to be strong for anybody. It’s okay to be weak. Fuck keeping your composure, it’s over rated man. Who cares if some pussy’s get offended by your emotions, you’re not a robot. It’s not your job to cater to complete strangers.

Fuck everyone telling you that you have to be more than average. There’s nothing wrong with fucking average. You want to strive to be more? Then do it. Prove every single asshole who ever doubted you wrong. But if you don’t want to? Don’t. Be exactly who you’re comfortable being. Not everyone is going to be the next Oprah, or design the next rocket ship. It’s okay that you’re not the person your parents wanted you to be, or who you thought you’d be.

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #vent poem #vent post #personal vent #spilled writing #exerpt from a story i'll never write #spilled emotions #spilled ink

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

So what exactly is being alive?

Is it the ring in your right ear that only seems to grow louder as the sides of your vision get dark

Is it the crack of your knees against cement, and the two second gap in between realization and fear

You feel the impact of the sidewalk before you feel your own brain malfunction, skull cracked

And he’s over you

Looking down with a smile you can never unsee no matter how many times you’ve attempted to claw your (own) eyes out

The tilting world only seems to increase the speed of your stomach contracting and vomit slipping down your shirt, piling into your lap

You can feel warm dripping out of your ear, and cool air flooding into a spot on your head

Right now, in your cloudy state, you feel hope

You think you hear odd sirens next to you, that is until you realize the only sirens close are the warnings flashing in your mushy brain, and the ringing in your right ear

(Is it the drums of a heavy heart pounding so hard you feel it pulse through your temples; when someone you love holds a knife to your stomach for the first time)

Or is it the burn of acid crawling up your throat when you find your mother in the basement.

She wasn’t alive, so why are you

They say to be alive all you have to do is breathe

A simple inhale, exhale process

So how come every time you pass the old barn on main, your lungs turn to fire

Restricting and pulling every ounce of your breath away until your left gasping for air

Images of a blonde flood your mind until it hurts to think, and you swear you can feel the wet slip of a hand falling out of yours

You still can’t breathe

Only short pants that expand your lungs further than necessary

The ugly crying you haven't been able to erase from memory only pierces four times louder. The sound makes you curl over the wheel, swerving the car

You can’t see anyway

Not with all them tears paving lakes of fire down your cheeks; dripping a puddle onto the dashboard

You see her bloated blue face and dull red eyes in the reflection of the windshield

And finally you give in

Realizing that breathing is impossible

If being alive if full of fear and pain then why suffer through it?

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #my writing #trauma writing #vent writing #spilled writing #written #free write #writblr #vent post #personal vent #my poetey #original poem #vent poem #spilled ink #spilled emotions

[blue-pens-and-cold-coffee]

Why

it’s the simplest question out there, but on occasion, it has the most devastating answers

So maybe that’s why the insides of your eyes feel like needles and wet whenever you think of asking

Why does it hurt?

What did I do?

Where did you go?

Will you come back?

Every inhale of fire and required exhale makes your shredded veins twitch in fear of losing a host

Why did you hurt me?

What did you do to me?

Where are you going without me?

Will you ever love me again?

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #my writing #vent writing #written #spilled writing #spilled emotions #spilled ink #free write #exerpt from a story i'll never write #vent poem #vent post #personal vent